Winning Molly
by EnchantingErika
Summary: Arranged Marriage. Sherlock was ready to be annoyed by Molly, expecting her to be a clingy love struck wife. He gets bothered though when it's been 6 months since their wedding and Molly is still minimizing all contact/communication between them. This is a prompt I got on Tumblr from Iamazonian. Sorry about the terrible title. Hope you enjoy.
1. Attention

Hello all. I'm back to writing. I started a story on here once, it wasn't very good. But now I am here and motivated to keep up my fanfiction. Thank you for stopping by my fic. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and I hope you enjoy.

Also I'm not too confident about my Sherlock, I always roleplay as Molly, so feel free to give me tips on how to better my Sherlock, and expect him to be pretty OOC.

Thank you to iamazonian on Tumblr for prompting me this. I appreciate it heaps.

Arranged Marriage. Sherlock was ready to be annoyed by Molly, expecting her to be a clingy love struck wife. He gets bothered though when it's been 6 months since their wedding and Molly is still minimizing all contact/communication between them.

Also it's an arranged marriage, but set in modern times. Just go with it.

Title: Winning Molly

Author: EnchantingErika

Rated: T (For now)

I don't own Sherlock and I'm not associated to the BBC in anyway. Except in my dreams.

Sherlock was sat at their dining room table his cool blue eyes fixed intently on his wife Molly. They didn't speak often, much to his surprise, and at first, delight. Though now, after six months of marriage to her, he found himself often wishing she would talk to him, he even felt himself longing for physical contact. That was new. Sherlock had always previously hated contact, but something about Molly didn't seem too bad. When his Mother had arranged with Mrs Hooper that Sherlock and Molly were to be wed, he'd dreaded it. Even without meeting her, he could tell she was boring and plain. Or so he'd thought. He had assumed she'd be clingy, constantly needed affection and he thought she'd get in the way. He expected her to nag at him about cleaning and eating and other boring things but she hadn't, and the rare occurrence of Sherlock being wrong transpired and he found himself actually interested in Molly Hooper. She was interested in reading and science, things that were up high on Sherlock's list of important things. And she was actually quite beautiful, with creamy skin and huge chocolate eyes, though he'd never admit that to anyone, especially not Molly. But still Sherlock remained cold and went through with the wedding, unenthused. Now though, he was tired of it. He wanted to kiss his wife, he wanted to hold her and discuss menial things with her. And thus he set about gaining Molly's attention.

Molly had been happy to marry Sherlock; he was a genius and the most attractive man she'd ever seen in her life. And he was rich, not that that mattered, she'd have liked him either way, but it was nice to know she'd be provided for. She was smitten from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, his dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes drawing her to him, but he hadn't felt the same way. He'd mostly ignored her and apart from the wedding night where he'd given her a chaste kiss, he never touched her. She was content though, she couldn't complain about her life, so she went about her tasks, not that there were many for her with the cleaning staff. She did a bit of gardening every day and read the latest medical journals to pass the time. At night though she lay in bed, next to Sherlock if he decided to sleep, never touching each other and it was lonely. But she continued on, telling herself things could be worse.

Molly was currently in the kitchenette, chopping up herself a salad to go outside and have lunch by the pool. She gathered her bowl, heading through the manor outside into the warm, summer air and sat down at the poolside table, enjoying the heat as she began to eat. She'd been eating for a few minutes when she heard the side door open; followed by the pool gate and she looked up, seeing Sherlock in his bathing suit. Her cheeks warmed a bit as her eyes ran across his chest, taking in the toned muscles and sprinkling of blonde chest hair. Her heart rate increased and she bit her lower lip, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she tried to concentrate on her food, unsuccessfully. She looked up at the splash, seeing Sherlock now submerged in the water, as he broke through the surface, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. She couldn't stop staring, he was gorgeous, almost unfairly so.

Sherlock knew Molly was attracted to him, he observed the way her pupils dilated whenever she looked at him, her heart rate usually increasing, and more than once he'd heard her mumble his name in her sleep, in a very endearing way. Which was why he'd begun going to bed earlier than usual, to lay with Molly whilst she slept, he used to rarely sleep but now he found the warmth of his bed much more comforting with her in it too. Which was why he'd decided to go for a swim, he knew Molly would be outside; she often ate outside on warmer days. So he changed into his swimming boxers, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way over to the pool. He didn't know why he felt nervous, he knew Molly was attracted to him, but he didn't know if she liked him or not, and Sherlock never could stand not knowing something. He felt Molly's eyes on him as he dived in the pool and he couldn't help but grin.

As he broke the surface, Molly fidgeted with the hem of her dress, angling her body towards his.

"Hello Sherlock" She called standing and walking to the edge of the pool, clearly flustered. Molly watched him, kicking off her shoes before sitting on the edge, dangling her feet into the cool water as she hiked up her dress to keep it from getting wet.

"Quiet day then? You don't usually swim" she murmured, swirling her feet in the water.

Sherlock grinned, swimming to the edge of the pool, looking up at her.

"I've nothing better to do. Care to join me?" As he spoke his eyes roamed her pale legs, feeling a rise in his chest he looked away.

"No, I don't think so, I want to go down the gardens, pick some flowers for the dinner table." Her blush spread to her neck as she stood, thinking it best to leave him to his own as she made her way through the gate with a small goodbye.

Sherlock frowned to himself; perhaps Molly didn't realize he was interested. This meant he'd have to be more obvious, and that he'd have to make the first move, and although he was confident, he was unfamiliar with relationships and was unsure how to approach her. Though he reminded himself, they were already married, so there wouldn't be any harm in contact. She was after all his wife, and normal spouses were intimate with each other regularly, or so he'd read.

Molly was still in the garden, gathering roses for the vase, her thoughts still on Sherlock. She longed to kiss him, to touch him, anything really, but she'd gotten used to him ignoring her, and she wasn't going to push him to do anything he didn't want to. There wasn't a doubt in her head though, she loved him, she'd been in love with him for months.

Sherlock didn't come to tea, it wasn't an usual occurrence, he regularly skipped meals so Molly ate alone. After her meal she went to one of the lounges to read before finally retiring for the night. She hadn't seen Sherlock since earlier that day. As she made her way up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom she opened the door to find Sherlock already in bed. It was a warm night so he'd kicked off the sheets and was laying there in his pyjama pants, shirtless. Her face immediately warmed, she didn't think she'd ever get used to the sight of a shirtless Sherlock. No matter how many times she saw the pale planes of his chest, they always made her knees feel weak.

He had his eyes closed and though he didn't usually sleep, there was the odd occasion where he'd sleep for hours. Today was most likely one of those days, so she quietly crossed the room to their en suite and turned on the shower.

She washed her long hair, taking extra time to let the hot water relax her muscles before drying herself and redressing in a singlet and pyjama shorts, pulling her hair back into a loose braid. She climbed into the huge bed, pulling just the sheet over them both and turning onto her side, facing away from Sherlock out of habit.

She'd just began to drift off when she felt a shift in the mattress, followed by a warm body pressed flush against her back, Sherlock's arm snaking around her waist. Molly opened her mouth to question him but decided against it. The intimacy was far too nice for her to ruin so she snuggled back against him, letting her eyes close and soon falling into a peaceful sleep.

Sherlock had spent the day planning how to approach Molly. He knew she was rather traditional, though she didn't like a big fuss made so eventually he'd decided on the simple task of 'spooning,' as he'd read on the internet. It didn't seem too horrible and as he lay in bed waiting for her, he actually felt almost excited at the prospect. Starting slowly and working his way up was how he'd decided to win her. And though he'd never say it, out loud Sherlock Holmes was nervous.

She hadn't complained, much to his delight and she'd pressed back against him. She smelt like shampoo and powder and woman and he swore his stomach did flips. He should have done this much earlier, he mused, having Molly close to him wasn't horrible at all and he found himself burying his face in her neck, drifting off to sleep.

So that's my first attempt at writing a proper Sherlolly fanfiction. I originally intended this to be a oneshot, but I might write a few more chapters, if people read this. Once again thanks to iamazonian for the prompt and constructive critiscism/reviews would be much appreciated. Let me know if you'd like another chapter.


	2. Flowers

**Sorry all for the big gap. Holidays and laptop dramas have put me behind but I'll be updating as quickly as I can. Thank you to everyone who favourited and reviewed, especially Minerva who gave me lots of advice :) This is my first story but I've been part of the Sherlolly fandom a very long time so I hope I can do it justice.**

**My laptop had to get a new harddrive so I lost my chapters I had written which is a huge pest! So sorry this is so short. **

**As usual I don't own Sherlock or any of its characters. **

**Also I'm sorry about the slightly confusing setting. It's an arranged marriage, and they don't seem to work but its set in modern times. Oh well. I hope you enjoy. **

**Oh and one more thing, this is my first attempt at writing anything somewhat M rated without it being in a roleplay, so I apologize if it's not very could. Note the rating has gone up to M. **

Molly woke alone that morning, which wasn't an unusual occurrence; Sherlock had always been an early riser. She sat up and arched her back in a stretch, wondering about the night before.  
Sherlock, in there time of knowing each other, had never cuddled her in any way, shape or form, so she was very surprised about the nights events. She wasn't complaining though, not at all. She couldn't stop smiling as she climbed out of bed, padding across the soft carpet to choose her outfit for the day.

Sherlock was irritated. More than that actually, he was annoyed and confused about this woman who had managed to draw a reaction from him. She hadn't noticed, that much was clear. She hadn't taken account of the way he was looking at her or the way his heart rate increased whenever she was near. Of course she hadn't realised, she wasn't as apt with her deductions as he was which meant he'd have to do something awful like verbally express his emotions. Sherlock had well and truly taken note of the way his body reacted to her without his permission, and it bothered him. What was so special about her? Molly Hooper. The quiet, tiny woman who his mother had chosen for him to marry. There was obviously something.

He'd woken that morning, still pressed against her body, his nose filled with the soft scent of woman and very uncomfortable erection pressing against her. He'd extracted himself from her as quickly as he could without waking her before hurrying out of the room and into the shower to deal with said problem.

He'd wrapped his hand around his cock, trying to relieve the aching want coiling in his lower half. He thought of Molly, he didn't have a choice, imaging her small hand instead of his own as he stroked his length, his eyes closed tightly as he remembered how she'd felt pressed against him and soon he was ejaculating in the shower, her name just held behind his lips.

And that was how he found himself in his study, contemplating how to make that woman realise how he felt.

Combing a hand through his shaggy hair he thought about traditional ways to tell a woman he liked her, since Molly clearly wasn't going to pick it up on her own, which wasn't exactly her fault. Sherlock wasn't the most obvious person, expecting people to deduce things as he did.

"Flowers!" He said out loud. From the few romance books he'd read, for the purpose of research of course, it seemed that the men always seemed to give women flowers. He could do that easily enough; he just needed to go down to the garden.

Molly would be up by now so he went through the kitchen, it wasn't that he didn't want to see her; it was more the fact that he wouldn't be able to look her in the eyes without thinking about what he'd done that morning and he didn't need to deal with that right now.

So he headed out the back, considering what flowers he should pick. He knew Molly regularly picked flowers for the table, particularly roses so he decided to avoid them. He wanted something unique for Molly. Despite his vast knowledge, Sherlock didn't really have much of a clue about flowers but he decided he'd just pick the prettiest. The prettiest? Even in his thoughts he was sounding more…. Mushy. That woman had made him soft, but strangely he didn't mind.

He searched through the gardens, they didn't have a gardener, Molly requested she have charge of the gardens. Which of course he'd granted.  
There was a small patch near the edge of their section where Molly hadn't tended to yet. It had white flowers, gardenias he recalled, though they were surrounded by a leaf filled looking plant. He picked a few flowers, enough for a small bunch before heading back inside.

**I'm sorry for such a short chapter. The next one will be longer, and I won't take as long to upload it, promise. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed. The next chapter should be up in a week or so. Reviews are welcome. **

**Erika**


	3. Nothing Goes According To Plan

**Hi. Yes. I don't know if anyone is still reading this, or people are still interested but I thought I would continue, because I hate an unfinished story. **

**I'm not going to make excuses, life happened and I got busy. So I'm sorry for the wait. I'll try update quicker. There shouldn't be many more chapters.**

**I don't own Sherlock, nor am I associated in anyway with the BBC.**

**Enjoy. And please feel free to review. **

He'd picked the flowers, a small bunch, and clipped off the leaves. Surely she'd get the message after this. For goodness sake, he'd cuddled her after all.

If she didn't realise after this he was going to have to tell her how he felt with words, and as clever as Sherlock was he'd never had to tell someone he fancied then before. Let alone his own wife.

With a huff he stormed out into the living room, where Molly had curled up with a book. He'd watched her read before, the way her nose crinkled slightly when she got to an interesting part. She devoured books; it was one of the first things Sherlock had noticed about her. She was constantly picking out books from their library, and speeding through them. She was fascinating. Adorable. Infuriating.

"Here." He unceremoniously thrust the gardenias before her, keeping his head almost shyly turned to the side.

"These are for you."

She'd been reading and hadn't heard him enter at first. Sherlock had the talent of either being as silent as a mouse, or as loud as one could possibly be, slamming beakers down noisily grumbling to himself, though the latter of which was only when things weren't going well, he could get himself in such a mood.

The flowers had startled her slightly, the white bunch thrust into her vision and she arched an eyebrow. She was used to Sherlock sitting with her and reading, or pacing the room as he thought. She knew he'd deny it if she ever said it out loud, but she was certain he liked the company, someone to just be near as he thought.

She was about to question him about the flowers when she noticed his hand.  
"What have you done?" She asked, taking the flowers and setting them beside her on the couch, before taking his much larger hand in her small one and examining it.  
"Have you been touching stinging nettles?"

"Stinging nettle? What? No." Sherlock gave her a look. Why wasn't she excited and gushing about the flowers? And what was wrong with his hand? His hand. Oh. He looked down at it; now that she was fussing over it he noticed the red bumps, and the slight stinging pain. The gardenias were nestled amongst a leafy looking plant. He'd deleted what nettles looked like long ago, wasn't important, you couldn't kill someone with nettles, except for the rare occasions of allergies. So he didn't need to know what they looked like. Only, it would've come in handy when picking one's wife flowers.

The pain, now that he'd noticed it was irritating and he wanted to scratch at the bumps, but his hand was still in Molly's. She was looking up at him concerned. Well that had not gone to plan.

"Come on." Molly had stood and was pulling him along into the kitchen, the flowers sat forgotten on the couch. He huffed and followed her. He couldn't even be sentimental properly.

She shook her head a little and led him into the kitchen, pulling him over to the sink and turning on the cold tap. "Here. This should help, hold your hand under."  
She waited till his hand was under the tap, before turning away from him. "I'll get some cream that should stop the itching."

When she returned Sherlock looked sulky. He got in moods sometimes, she was used to it by now, so she didn't say anything, instead taking his hand out from underneath the water, and gently patting it dry with a hand towel. Afterwards she rubbed the cream on his hands and looked up at him with a small smile. "There we are, all better."

She wanted to kiss him better, to wrap her arms around him like a people would do in a normal partnership, but she knew she couldn't. Sherlock hated unnecessary touching, and remembering that fact she let go of his hand. "I'm going to start dinner." She murmured.

He didn't know why she insisted on cooking, they were wealthy enough for a chef, yet she said cooking cleared her mind, so he nodded and stayed put, watching her go.

She turned on her heels though, and she watched her with a confused look as she padded back over to him, standing on tiptoes she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you for the flowers Sherlock." She breathed, and then she was gone.

Even though he was alone he cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, internally preening. He'd known she'd like the flowers; Molly was different in many ways, though on the romantic front she seemed to be quite typical. He was still pleased with himself though.

She'd thought about it all through dinner, why had he given her flowers? That wasn't like him. Had something bad happened? Was he trying to soften bad news? That didn't seem like a very Sherlock thing to do. She didn't want to ask him about it though, in case he was just being nice. Because that might hurt his feelings, and she'd seen him sulk before.

She was thinking about it on the way upstairs to bed, already pulling her hair back into a loose braid as she entered their bedroom and rummaged in the drawers for her pyjamas. She didn't turn on the light, she didn't need it. She changed into the shorts and singlet top, before turning around and heading over to the bed.

She immediately froze and almost screamed, though she recognised the familiar mop of dark curls on top of the figure in the bed. "Sherlock? You never come to bed this early." She murmured in confusion, pulling back the covers on her side and hopping in, her heart still racing from the fright.

He'd been lying in bed since he'd finished his latest experiment, waiting for Molly. He could tell she hadn't noticed him, and he watched her undress, feeling only a little guilty, he could watch his wife change If he wanted.

She was slim, but she had curves to her body that he'd not noticed before with the clothes she usually wore. He swallowed thickly, and his eyes travelled over the soft, pale skin at the arch of her back, down to her arse, and he shifted a little, feeling his pants tighten. It felt dirty, watching her change like this, and he felt like he should say something, but it was too late now, she was already in her underwear. So he stayed quiet, his breathing shallow as she pulled on the clothes and turned.

He picked up exactly when she was aware of him, her body stiffened and she opened her mouth to yell out. He briefly wondered if she'd call for him, and he felt a swell of pride in his chest before he refocused. She was coming over to hop beside him, and she didn't seem upset that he'd been watching her.

"I had nothing else to do." He replied, though that wasn't true, he could've thought of at least ten things to do, but he had wanted to wait for Molly. The woman was making him soft, she'd gotten under his skin and she wasn't even trying.

He knew she looked at him, sometimes with desire, and yet she still didn't push him. It was endearing, but annoying, now that he wanted her and didn't know how to broach the subject.

She'd lay down, her dark hair contrasting against the white of the pillow and he watched her, her hand lifting to brush some hair from her face.

The glint of the gold band on her fourth finger caught his eye, and the pride filled his chest again, the word 'Mine' springing to mind. She wore the ring, every day, even though she didn't have to. She was careful with it, taking it off when she knew she'd get her hands dirty, but she always put it back on. She didn't resent him, or the marriage then. It pleased him.

"You're staring." Her voice brought him out of his thoughts and he cleared his throat.  
"Observing." He corrected her, and he shifted a little closer to her, carefully shifting so he could pull her against his chest.

She let him pull her closer, and she moved so her body was pressed against his, her cheek resting gently against his chest as she closed her eyes. He'd not held her like this before. It was warm, and comforting, her hand instinctively wrapping around his waist.

She was about to say something, when she realised something hard was pressing against her belly.

"Sherlock...? You have an erection…"

**Right. I'm leaving it there because I can *Evil laugh*. I don't really like the flow of this, especially at the beginning and middle, the end isn't so bad. I think it's just because I'm getting back into the flow of writing. Anyhow, hopefully the next chapter won't be too far away. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**

Erika. 


	4. Taking care of things

**Warning, this is where this story earns it M rating. **

**I'm still struggling to get into the flow of it, I don't particularly like how this chapter flows. I'm changing to quickly between POV's. I'm going to work on making that better next time, I think it's because I've only ever roleplayed before this, and I'm not used to writing both characters. Please bear with me. **

"Sherlock...? You have an erection…"

Her soft voice filled the air and he realised she was right. He could feel himself, pressing against her hip, just the thin cotton of both their pyjama pants separating there skin.

"Ah yes. That." He tried to sound haughty, like he didn't care, but his voice came out all deep and breathy and he felt his cheeks colouring a bit.

He'd wanked before, to the thought of her, it was vulgar and felt dirty but he couldn't help himself. He'd not gotten urges like this before Molly. He thought of burying himself in her, again and again till she was writhing and crying his name. That made his cock twitch against her and he blinked, trying to focus.

She was lying there, looking shocked but her pupils were dilated and he watched as her tongue brushed across her lower lip.

He'd been waiting for this, ever since he'd realised what he was feeling for her. He wanted her. He wanted his wife, and he could have her, she was so obviously willing judging by her expression and the way her heart rate had increased considerably.

Molly still hadn't moved, large brown eyes even wider and locked on him. He had an erection, and she was pretty certain it was because of her and in turn that made a familiar warmth spread through her belly and she shifted slightly.

She was rubbing her hip against his erection and he'd felt nothing like it. The fact that It was Molly just added to the excitement and he found himself thrusting his hips forward a little, a quiet growl leaving his lips.

She knew what she was doing; he could see it in her eyes. She knew how desperately he needed her. The infuriating woman, he clenched his jaw, trying to stop himself from rutting against her like an animal. He wasn't primal. He was logical.

But he couldn't think properly right now, the desire to rip of her shorts and bury his cock in her over and over again till release came, was almost overwhelming. He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing.

Her hands were wandering, he could feel the cold, small fingers sliding across his chest to his side and his heart was pounding.

Molly wanted to touch him. He was hard because of her, and he didn't seem to be objecting to her fingers sliding across his chest, nails scraping lightly as she moved down to his hip.

Her own breathing was laboured and she could already feel warmth pooling in her knickers from how turned on she was.

Slowly her hand slid round to his pants, and she pulled the cord, watching him intently for any sign he wanted her to wasn't moving, his eyes dark and locked with hers so she took it as a sign to continue.

Slowly a small hand slipped into his pants, and wrapped around his erection. A guttural moan escaped his mouth and he was a little embarrassed but made no move to stop her.

"Here." She breathed, moving to sit up a little and nudging him so he was lying on his back as she started to pull down his pyjama pants, taking his boxers with them.

His cock sprung free and she took him in, the foreskin pulled back just slightly to show the red glans, and she subconsciously wet her lips, leaving his pants halfway down his thighs as she took him in her gentle grip once more.

He was beside himself, watching her take off his pants. And he was fighting obscene noises, his knees locked in place to stop himself bucking up against her hand.

He hadn't seen her like this before, her face flushed, eyes dark and focused. It was incredibly sexy and he couldn't help twitch his hips forward a little when she started stroking her hand up along his length.

It felt so much better than his own hand. Her fingers were small and warm and soft. It was ecstasy. "Fuck." He bit out, his head falling back against the pillows though he kept his eyes fixed on her.

Her hand ran along his length a few times, stroking him firmly as she watched the small drop of precome beading at his tip.

He watched her with widened eyes as the pad of her finger swiped across his tip, gathering the liquid before lifting her fingers to her mouth and sucking them with a wet sound. Tasting him. Her eyelids were hooded and he could tell she liked it.

It was vulgar and at the same time the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life and it was all it took to tip him over into orgasm, coming hard with a low growl as he ejaculated over his thighs and the bed sheet.

"Molly.'' He panted as his head fell back, his body relaxing and the familiar heavy weight of post orgasmic bliss pressing down on him. He stretched out, muscles relaxed. He was a little embarrassed with the mess he'd made, though she didn't seem to mind, watching him with those doe eyes, her lips swollen from her biting them.

"Let me help." She murmured quietly, grabbing some tissues from her bedside table and doing her best to clean him up. She didn't know what to say. He'd obviously liked it though she wasn't sure if he wanted to acknowledge it or not. It was so difficult to know when It came to Sherlock.

She tossed the tissues aside, and lay back, watching him. Waiting for him to do something. To say anything.

His mind was racing over, processing what had happened. What they'd done. What this meant for their relationship. "Molly, I…'' He started, but stopped himself. He'd never good with words. Instead he shifted and cupped her cheek, bringing his mouth hard to hers. He knew she was still aroused and he was obligated to return the favour. It wasn't just that though, he wanted to.

Kissing her her hard, his mouth nipped and sucked at her lips as he moved to hover enough her, propping himself up on his elbows either side of her shoulders. He sucked on her lower lip, feeling satisfied at the way she moaned and squirmed beneath him and then he thrust his hand down the front of her knickers.

He'd never felt a woman before, not like this, though he knew enough of basic anatomy to make it feel good for her.

His thumb pressed firmly against her clitoris as his index and middle fingers slid into her heat.

Hot. Wet. Tight. Were the first things he thought, and he pumped his fingers, curling them slightly.

"Oh." She gasped, surprised at how quickly his fingers were inside her, and her hips were rocking up against him. Of course he'd be good at this, he was good at everything. And all she was thinking was how bloody good it felt and how lucky she was.

God she was vocal, moaning and whining as she ground her hips needily against his fingers. It was the most atrractive thing he'd ever seen in his life, and he moved his fingers faster, wanting to bring her to her peak.

She was close, she could feel her abdomen tightening, all her muscles tensing as he worked her over. She threw her head back with a particularly loud moan, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she wailed his name.

Her muscles spasmed around his fingers as she came, her eyes closing tightly.

His fingers worked her through her orgasm and he watched, fascinated and proud that he was the one to make her feel this way.

"That was…" She started, a little in awe as she looked up at him once she'd finished.

"Yes. Quite." He cleared his throat and withdrew his fingers, wiping them on his pants and moving to lie back down beside him.

She didn't know what to say now. Did he want to talk about what this meant? She doubted it. Sherlock didn't talk about feelings, so instead she lay still, watching him and questioning their lives together.

"Thank you." He spoke quietly so she'd have just heard her, and then he pulled her into his chest, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Go to sleep Molly." He rumbled, his eyelids heavy as he held her firmly to him. His mind was too dulled at the moment to think this over, he'd need to go to his mind palace in the morning and store everything, though he was certain this changed the parameters of their relationship.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

**Like I said, I don't like the flow of it, but im working on it. **

**I hope you liked it, it was my first smut written without a partner so I hope I did okay. **

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. **

**Erika. **


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